


Suitable Supervision

by Sophie3



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Background Voice of Reason, Batfamily Values, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Mild Gore, Ninjas - Freeform, helicopter parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 11:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17917778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie3/pseuds/Sophie3
Summary: Peter totally has a handle on this being Spiderman business.  He just wasn’t ready for ninjas, okay?  He does not need adult supervision.





	Suitable Supervision

\----

Peter liked to tell himself he had a handle on life these days. He was back to getting most of his homework in on time, he made it to at least half of his club meetings, he was no longer grounded for life for the whole not telling Aunt May about the Spiderman thing, and he was even doing a semi-okay job at _doing_ the Spiderman thing. It had been weeks since he’d done anything cringe worthy embarrassing while out in the suit. Instead he stopped muggings, saved people from car accidents and occasional gave directions to tourists.

All in all, this being the friendly neighborhood Spiderman thing was going great.

Which of course meant ninjas had to happen.

“Really? Really?!” And maybe that last one was a bit more shrill than he’d have liked it to be (Spiderman was way cooler than Peter Parker and did not do shrill) but these were desperate times.

Granted – it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. Peter was pretty sure Black widow was some kind of ninja/assassin/super spy so it kind of made sense that there’d be more than just one of her kind out there. But Peter hadn’t expected to run into them in broad daylight in an art museum’s sculpture garden.

“I thought ninjas were supposed to be nocturnal!” Peter complained as he dodge yet another sharp pointy thing. They sure had a lot of those and they seemed determined to share them with Peter. “Aren’t you allergic to sunlight or something? Or maybe that’s only vampires. Are there ninja vampires? Vampiric ninjas? Nevermind, don’t want to know.”

Not that he thought they’d tell him. Or could even hear him over all of the screaming. Before the ninjas had shown up, there’d been a really swanky party happening. The kind with chocolate fountains and Champaign and other things that Peter saw in movies when something was supposed to be fancy. Now there were a lot of overturned tables, broken glass, and wealthy people ruining their expensive clothing by trying to hide in the hedges.

Manicured gardens didn’t leave a lot of space for swinging around, but Peter was making the best of it. What few trees there were were barely taller than Peter, but the outside art pieces were all oversized and strategically placed for the best viewing angles and hence gave him enough room to use them as a tether. Unfortunately, that also meant he’d forever know what it looked like to see a murderous ninja jump off of an electric green teddy bear the size of a small house that was made out of what looked like old plastic bottles. It was a weird mental image to be stuck with that also made him crave gummy bears. Probably not what the artist or the ninja had intended.

Peter shot the ninja in the face with a wad of webbing because he was feeling petty. It wasn’t the most effective way to get rid of a threat, but boy was it satisfying to see the guy (girl?) go ass over teakettle backwards. So maybe Peter wasn’t feeling the _friendly_ part of being the neighborhood Spiderman as much as normal right now. He was _supposed_ to be getting ice cream with Ned and MJ and enjoying a nice weekend – not handling ninjas.

And even as that one went down, another one was chasing Peter down with a sword (a sword!) and Peter never thought he’d actually miss the days when the bad guys were just trying to shoot him. Another one tried to jump on him from behind (again) and he had to dodge out of the way without accidentally leaving the guy to be skewered by his own teammate. Because really, someone had to be the responsible adult if they were all going to play with sharp pointy things. The problem with that was there always seemed to be another one of them there to try to trip him up, or pull him in a different direction, or try to stab him. It wasn’t often that the bad guys got to give Spiderman the run around, but at this point he was starting to get a little dizzy.

“How are there so many of you!” Peter yelped, shooting out a quick web to grab the two that had snuck by him and yank them away from the huddle of miserable terrified party goers trapped behind him. Most of the people had hightailed it out of there as soon as the throwing stars started getting thrown but a handful of them had gotten trapped along the art museum’s walls with no way out that wasn’t through a gauntlet of ninjas. Someone had had the bright idea of using the overturned tables as shelter, and every now and then a fork or an empty bottle came hurdling over the edge and smacking into one of the ninjas. Which was all kinds of stupid – one did not piss off ninjas! – but Peter could appreciate the initiative.

And he maybe, sort of, needed the help.

Spiderman was used to taking on small time thieves – people more likely to trip over their own two feet than do anything like a back bend or a flying kick. Which Peter could still totally handle. He was capable of all kinds of things now, and just because these guys were _maybe_ a bit more capable than what he was used to did not mean he could not handle this.

…if only they’d stop ganging up on him.

He strung up two more, nearly tripped over a third one, before getting clocked in the head hard enough to send him reeling backwards. He blocked the next hit, yank another one off of his feet and sent him head first into the side of something that looked like a giant metal bean. It made a cool melodic noise on impact, but Peter was already moving on to the next one.

…and getting kicked in the chest in the process.

He’d had worse hits before, sure. But usually those were glancing blows as he wiggled his way out of trouble. This one caught him dead center and off balance and sent him careening back into makeshift barricade behind him. The table slid a couple of inches before meeting resistance and stopping.

Peter groaned. This was not going well for him.

“You okay?” someone was brave enough to ask.

Spiderman tilted his head back to find one of the party goers cautiously peering over the side of his defenses. The guy looked like he played the dashing hero in daytime movies and his haircut probably cost more than Peter’s best suit. But he was apparently big enough to hold the table in place and brave enough to ask the crazy vigilante in the spandex suit if he was okay fighting the ninjas.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Peter quipped back right away. “Absolutely fine. No problem here. I meant to do that. All part of the plan.”

“Oh, good, there is a plan. I was beginning to worry.”

There totally wasn’t a plan. And it was totally the right time to worry. “I’ve got this!” Spiderman insisted before scrambling back up to his feet and launching himself at the nearest masked figure. While he appreciated a bit of encouragement from the fine citizens of this city, he really didn’t need any more sarcasm in his life. He had MJ and Ned for that, whether he wanted it or not.

Besides, Spiderman could totally handle ninjas!

\---

 

 

Spiderman could not handle ninjas and it was frankly painful to watch. What advantage the hero had in superpowers, he clearly lacked in training and it showed. These weren’t run of the mill thugs, but highly trained soldiers and they did an excellent job of running circles around Spiderman.

Not that the kid didn’t try. He got up each time he got knocked down and he did an admirable job of keeping himself between the threat and the civilians. How he managed not to end up perforated, Bruce wasn’t quite sure, but maybe that was the kid’s superpower – not dying. Or maybe (more likely) the kid was just really lucky.

So Bruce kept launching glass Perrier bottles over the side and into people’s heads, and he even managed to get the correct angle and force to throw a serving fork so it landed with the tines into someone’s leg. It wasn’t much, but until the situation called for blowing his cover, it was about all the support he could offer.

It was certainly one of the more entertaining parties Bruce Wayne had been to in a while.

 

 

\---

Patrolling was strictly limited to the hours between the end of decathlon club and dinner time, with an extra two hours of evening patrols on any non-school night. Aunt May had been very firm on that when she agreed to take him off of being grounded for life. She’d also threatened Ned’s life if he didn’t rat Peter out the moment anything serious happened. Aunt May understood the function of the guy in the chair and she made it perfectly clear that she was the real power behind this little operation and if he didn’t report to her there would be _consequences_. Honestly, Peter couldn’t blame Ned for folding like a house of cards. Aunt May could be scary when she wanted to.

But Aunt May also worked evenings and what she and Ned didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. So Peter sat atop the office building across from his bus stop and played around with taking pictures on his phone. It was nearly three in the morning, and even if someone looked up, all they’d see was a shapeless lump against the skyline. Plus this new filter was kind of cool and it wasn’t like Peter was going to be sleeping anyway. He’d gotten a solid four hours of sleep before jerking awake. A bit of fresh air would do him good. Plus he’d have some truly spectacular submissions for the next school art magazine.

To be honest, calling it patrolling would have been a bit of a stretch. It was mostly Peter goofing off with half an ear out for possible trouble. Unfortunately, half an ear wasn’t quite enough and he didn’t notice he had company until the man was almost on top of him.

“Argh!”

Spiderman jumped in surprise, but instead of scuttling backwards, he pitched himself forward, going for his safe space of being in between buildings. The man made a grab for Peter, but caught nothing but air as Peter scrambled sideways, clinging to the building and ready to fling himself to the next one if need be. But the man didn’t chase after him. Instead he crouched down slowly on the edge of the building and stared at Spiderman.

“Holy Batman, you’re Batman!”

And holy Batman, but Batman was HUGE. Maybe it was just the angle or the really dramatic lighting, but the guy towered over Peter, even when he was crouched down. “You’re way bigger in real life, oh my god.” Which was about as close as Peter wanted to get to admitting he had a small collection of Batman themes comic books and a huge file of saved ‘sighting’ pictures from the internet. Most of them were probably fake. None of them were nearly as terrifying as seeing the man in person.

“What are you doing here?” Spiderman yelped. Because Batman was not supposed to wander. He was kind of like Spiderman in that regard, except instead of being the friendly neighborhood superhero he was the terrifying demon vigilante haunting Gotham. The point was, they weren’t supposed to leave their respective cities.

But apparently Batman could and apparently he wasn’t much interested in talking about it. Which was okay. Peter was pretty sure it might fall under the territory of ‘if I told you, I’d have to kill you’. Getting stared at long and hard, though, was almost as terrifying. “Do I have something on my mask?” Peter finally tried asking, when the silence went on far longer than he was comfortable with. Batman might be okay with looking like a statue, and yeah, technically Peter could hold this position for a really long time, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be frozen like this forever. But it was kind of like having a big cat stare at you. That flight or fight reflex seemed to get shorted out and he just stayed frozen. Maybe Batman’s vision was based on movement or echolocation or something and if Peter just didn’t move, he’d forget that he was there and move on. Which would mean opening his mouth was maybe not the smartest move but Peter was a nervous talker.

And nothing like Batman looming over you to make you nervous.

Finally (finally!) the man moved. Peter tensed, ready to fling himself backwards if need be, but the man only reached down to grab something then held it out slowly. It was too small to be a weapon, and hopefully not a bomb, and Batman held it out there like he expected Spiderman to take it from him.

“You dropped something,” the gravelly voice told him.

Now that was what a superhero voice was supposed to sound like and man why couldn’t Peter be as cool as that! All he could manage was a strangled “huh?” sound.

Batman titled his wrist, the streetlights bouncing off of what was in his hand and Spiderman yelped. “My phone!” He grabbed for it instinctively (there was important stuff on there, okay?) and it wasn’t until he was already doing it that it occurred to him that it probably wasn’t a good idea to get within reach. But Batman didn’t do anything other than let him take back the phone. He even shifted backwards slightly, as if to give Peter more room on the ledge of the building.

Spiderman stayed crouched on the very edge, ready to dart away if needed. Batman was cool and everything, but Peter didn’t _know_ him, and the don’t talk to strangers rule probably applied extra when you were both in weaponized costumes at three in the morning. Still. “Thanks,” Peter muttered, tucking it safely away.

Batman regally nodded his head. Way cooler than Spiderman, and not nearly as crazy as the internet speculated.

Spiderman pulled himself together. “Was there, um, something you wanted to talk about?” he asked. “Is something wrong?” Because most superheroes didn’t care about what Spiderman did unless there was something really big going on.

“No.”

Okay. That was good. Peter relaxed. At least nothing was immediately about to blow up in his face, he hoped. It still didn’t explain what was going on, though. They continued to stare at each other. Apparently that was all the man was going to say.

Awkward.

“I’m, um, going to go now?” Peter said because he actually wasn’t really supposed to be out here and Batman was super cool and everything but also really intimidating and Peter wanted to get out of there before he ended up doing something embarrassing.

Batman did that nod thing again and that was all the permission Peter needed. He scrambled backwards off of the ledge, not quite comfortable turning his back on the man when they were still that close, before twisting around and launching himself off. It wasn’t that high of a building, so he shot out a line right away and swung himself sideways around the corner, taking only one look back to see the shadow watching him.

Creepy. Awesome, but creepy.

\---

 

“….does anyone actually think he’s an adult?”

“He could be! You don’t know for sure that he’s not.”

“Do you think _I_ can’t recognize a juvenile vigilante when I see one?”

 

\---

Things were pretty normal after that. Well, as normal as it got for Peter. The ninja’s seemed to have disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived. Spiderman tried finding out where they came from or even what they were after without much luck. He had theories of course. The art museum had been hosting some kind of fundraising gala, with lots of very wealthy famous people in attendance. So there had probably been a lot of jewelry and money to steal from the guests or maybe they had been planning to kidnap one of them. But with their plans foiled and no one left to talk, Spiderman would never know exactly what they had wanted, just that they hadn’t gotten it thanks to his intervention.

Peter was just happy not to have to do that again. He would of, if he had to, but it had not been fun. And he had the bruises to show for it.

And despite Ned’s helpful commentary -

_“Peter, you look like someone’s tie-dye project. And like, not a good one, but one of those ones were the colors are all messed up and too mixed together so it just looks dirty and grey.”_

_“Thanks, Ned.”_

_“Maybe you should not fight the secret ninja league next time-”_

_“I wasn’t planning on fighting them this time!”_

_“-because they kind of handed your ass to you.”_

\- Peter didn’t actually have a better plan for how to handle them if they did show up again.

Just like he didn’t have a plan for how to handle Batman following him around. Because that was a thing that was happening these days. Usually the man kept his distance, but he made sure Spiderman saw him lurking about. One time he dropped a brick on a perp’s head. Not a big one, and not from very high up, but it was enough send the guy sprawling to the ground and stop him from firing his gun. Not that Spiderman _needed_ the help (not that time at least) but it was downright sociable by the guy’s standards. So Spiderman was a bit more comfortable with sharing his current perch than he might normally have been.

. “You use a grappling gun, right?” Spiderman asked. He had one leg dangling off of the side of the ledge, the other tucked in close so he’d fit on the slim bit of real-estate. He wasn’t sticking to it, so much as carefully, comfortably, balanced, but there wasn’t much room. He had no idea how Batman was managing to keep his bulk supported, but the man was standing very straight and tall, as if he could stretch out all of his weight vertically so the mere six inches of ledge below would support him.

Another silent nod. A man of many words, Batman.

“So, like, how do you manage buildings like this one?” Peter asked, sifting around so he could knock one knuckle gently against the reinforced glass that made up the building exterior. “You know, without shattering everything?”

Spiderman was getting better at reading his shadow’s body language. He wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but he was pretty sure that was a judgmental eyebrow raise. Granted, most of his expressions (if you could call them that) were judgmental, but this one was particularly so.

Peter groaned and twisted around until he could hang off of the railing, head dangling downward. It made Batman twitch every time he did something like that which was _maybe_ part of why he did it. “I know what that look means. That’s the look of I should be able to figure it out for myself. Well, maybe I can’t, ya ever think of that? I mean, why else would I ask, you know, like a normal person would?”

Batman did not reply. Peter was starting to feel like he had an imaginary friend, what with the one sided conversations they seemed to have.

“Fine. I’ll figure it out on my own. But it’s going to be your fault if I don’t get any of the rest of my homework done because of this!”

\----

 

“Bruce, _no_.”

 

\---

Spiderman had just successfully stopped another purse snatching and he was feeling pretty pleased with himself. The lady had been shaken up, since the guy had nearly knocked her off her feet taking the bag, but she’d given Spiderman a quick hug before hurrying away. It had probably been more of a reflexive reaction than anything else, but it had felt like a good “good job!” and Spiderman didn’t get those that often.

Not that he needed them, but it was nice.

Peter was also getting better at knowing when Batman was going to sneak up on him. It wasn’t every night, and often the man wouldn’t even get close enough to say anything, but sometimes he liked to loom. Out of self-preservation (because having a heart attack every time was going to kill him one day) Peter had come up with a sure-fire method of knowing when the man was there.

He just always assumed he was actively being stalked. It guaranteed that at least every time it _did_ happen, he was right.

“Don’t you have somewhere else you’re supposed to be?” Peter finally asked one night. It wasn’t that he minded the company, but it was starting to feel a little constrictive. Like he was always being watched. This wasn’t even his normal patrol time, but he’d heard that tonight was going to be a bad one and he’d managed to wheedle Aunt May into letting him stay out an extra hour.

“No.”

“No, you don’t have anywhere or no, you’re supposed to be here?”

Batman, in his true communicative style, chose to ignore the question. They continued to watch over the city. Peter was debating whether or not Aunt May would be cool with him staying out later if he told her Batman was stalking him. On the one hand, Batman was very cool and probably way more experienced at taking down bad guys than Spiderman was. On the other hand, a lot of people thought the man was nuts (Peter was withholding judgement for now because of said stalking) and Peter kind of had this suspicion that while Aunt May may be cool with buying Batman themed merch, she might draw the line at her kid spending copious amounts of time with a man that dressed up in costumes and punched people. Parents could be twitchy like that.

“It’s a school night,” Batman announced suddenly and Peter groaned.

“It’s fine, I’ve got it covered,” he complained back before realizing that maybe that wasn’t the right response. “I mean! School night? Why would I care? I thought you said work. It’s a work night. Because I have work tomorrow. Well, that and I’m working now. But no one pays me for this work, unfortunately. Not that I want to be, I mean. Cause that would probably be weird and uncomfortable and break a bunch of laws and stuff. So yeah. No issue here!”

And really. No one who wore a mask should be able to be that judgmental with an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna just go over there now,” Spiderman muttered before starting off in a loop that would let him check all of the neighboring streets. Because he couldn’t say something stupid if he wasn’t there.

Batman, however, stayed and watch him each time he swung by until patrol ended that night and Peter headed back home for a bit of shut eye before that school thing he definitely totally did not have.

\---

 

“Bruce, we talked about this. _No_.”

“…I’m just doing research.”

“This isn’t research, this is window shopping!”

 

\---

It wasn’t ninjas this time. Peter was very grateful for that fact. Because if there was one thing he had had demonstrated to him recently, it was that his actual fighting skills (as opposed to superhero powers) were sorely lacking in comparison. No, this time it was just something radioactive that had crawled out of the sewers. Which, to be fair, Spiderman was also radioactive, but he hadn’t grown extra limbs or eyeballs and this thing seemed to be both sweating off chunks of its own skin and _trying to eat other people’s_ and that was a whole lot of gross and horrible stuff of nightmares that Peter just really didn’t need.

He’d tried trapping it. Tried tying it up. But when the thing seemed to have chunks of itself oozing off like globs of jam falling out of a PB&J (Peter was never eating again, ever) it was kind of hard to tie it down. One of his webs would stick for a moment, but then that lump of skin would just slid off and he was back to square one. And for something that ugly and messy, it sure moved fast.

“Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me,” Peter muttered to himself as he scrambled over and around to try to take the thing from behind. But it seemed to have enough awareness to be able to keep track of where he was at all times, and it tried yet again to grab him. “I am not tasty!” he assured it, but judging by the way it had tried to eat folks in the subway, it probably didn’t care much.

A narrow subway station was the last place Spiderman wanted to fight this thing, but the only exit was currently packed with fleeing people. Keeping it down here, and away from the mob was the only choice he had. He tried taunting it, getting it to follow him backwards into the even darker, more constricted tunnels, but the thing wasn’t very interested in one Spiderman when it had a gaggle of other squirming things to eat. Peter cursed and scrambled for plan B, or maybe he was on C or D or freaking F by now. Getting back in front of it was the only option. But the blob thing was roughly the size of a Humvee and that made getting around it a bit tricky. Spiderman did not want to risk touching it. He’d already seen what happened to people that did.

Maybe he couldn’t tie it up, but he could probably block it. It might at least buy people time. Running lines back and forth between two columns was normally easy work, but there wasn’t a lot of room to move down here and the thing was on him before he’d gotten more than a couple up. A couple of lines wasn’t going to be enough. It might not have the strength to break Spiderman’s webs, but it didn’t need to if it could just ooze around them. Spiderman worked frantically to get more up, practically trying to build a screen in an effort to contain it. His shots were messy, no time to think about angles, but it was getting the job done. The thing was close enough now that it was pushing full body against his web, which made it hard to add new strings without accidentally touching it, but Spiderman kept at it. He could tell by the noise level behind him that the mass of people had made it up the stairs with only a few stragglers left behind. Eventually the man-eating blob was going to figure out that it could go _around_ Spiderman’s web, but maybe that would buy him enough time to move the injured out of its path.

The thing pushed harder, but Spiderman’s webs were made of sterner stuff than that. Bits of the creature made it through, only to shear off, like melted cheese (seriously, Peter was never eating again). The chunks squelched when they hit the tiled floor and Spiderman had to duck his head and get his arm out of the way of one of them as it nearly came raining down on him. The fallen bits kept jiggling, like they were trying to move on their own but didn’t quite have the mass for it. This was seriously going to be the most disgusting way to win a fight if this thing managed to kill itself by trying to push _through_ Spiderman’s web to get at the tasty people. Peter did not want to know how the more solid bits of the monster were going to fare, he just wanted to not be here anymore.

Whatever bit of intellect or animal instinct (and Peter still wasn’t sure if this thing had started out as human or animal – it was beyond recognizable now and _he did not want to know_ ) seemed to finally kick in and the thing stopped trying to make grated cheese out of itself. For one blessed moment there was a pause as the thing seemed to consider its options. Then it started _eating the bits of itself that had fallen off_ and Peter gagged behind his mask. Bits were getting slurped up and Peter could not watch that.

He jerked his head to the side, desperate for a distraction, and did a quick head count of who was left in the tunnel. He was down to just the injured now, but at least one of them was very much not moving and that only made Peter’s stomach turn over even worse. Had the thing touched them or had they been trampled in the rush to escape? He wasn’t sure exactly what coming into contact with this thing did to a person, just that it didn’t look good.

And then something wrapped around his foot and he got a real good understanding of exactly what it did.

Things happened kind of fast after that, even for him. Getting away was the first thing he tried, because it _hurt_ , and doing whatever it took to get away from that was priority number one. But pulling back didn’t work, it just held on tighter, and Peter very firmly did not panic as he tried to get the right leverage to break free. The thing had gobbled up all of the chunks of skin that had fallen off and somehow in the process _eaten_ part of Spiderman’s web. Or at least shoved it into its mouth. The strains were still connected in some places, pulled taunt as they disappeared down the thing’s lurid red gullet. It didn’t seem to be chewing them up so much as swallowing them whole and that mouth full of rows of tiny sharp teeth was way too close to Peter’s foot and _he was not panicking_. Not yet.

Maybe if he gave it something else to chew on, it would let him go. There wasn’t much to work with (that wasn’t another squishy human) but Spiderman braced himself, ignored the burning stinging melting pain in his other foot, and latched a web on the one piece of furniture New York’s subway had to offer. The trash can was full, which was great in that it made it heavier, and frankly Peter _did not care_ if it pelted him in all manner of nastiness as it sailed overhead and smashed into the part of the monster closest to him.

The pain in his foot was getting worse and he could smell the damage to his suit and it was only a matter of time before that damage spread to skin. The grip it had on him slackened enough that he was able to scoot backwards a little but it still would not fully release its hold. Peter started to reach down to try peeling it off but jerked his hand back at the last second. Stupid! It didn’t matter how much it hurt right now or how much he just wanted it off – off – off! – touching it was only going to make it worse. And if his hand got caught too, then he was really going to be dead. The trash can was only a momentary distraction and the thing was already half-heartedly trying to tug him back in.

He was maybe sort of starting to panic just a little when something else grabbed him by the back of his suit and pulled back and up.

Wow, Batman was tall.

Peter dangled from the end of his grip, a good two feet off of the ground, with one leg still stretched out and caught. The fleshy, limb like, thing holding on to him stretched like taffy before Batman sliced clean through it with some kind of black blade. Peter swayed in his grip, suddenly free but still in pain as the detached bit tried to eat its way up his leg. Peter grabbed at the arm holding him up, trying not to instinctively paw at his hurt leg. It at least took the pressure off of being held up by only his suit.

Batman swung him around, putting him on the far side away from the thing but still keeping him held out as far as his arm would go. Spiderman didn’t need to be told to keep his contaminated leg clear of touching anything else. The last thing they needed was this stuff on both of them. The monster didn’t roar in frustration at losing its snack, so much as it gurgled grumpily. Batman sprayed it in its sort of face with something that hissed and billowed in white clouds. That got a much higher louder, screeching noise, like the sound of tearing metal. Not a sound anything organic should ever make.

It seemed to be working though, and Batman took advantage of the lull to spray the same thing on Spiderman’s leg in a series of short bursts. Spiderman gritted his teeth through it, the cure apparently almost as bad as the disease. Burning pain turned to freezing pain for a handful of horrible seconds before it stopped. The chunk of skin that had wrapped itself around Spiderman’s ankle was now frozen solid, like the world most macabre bracelet. Batman was even kind enough to be the one to rap it sharply with the heel of his knife, breaking it off in three ragged pieces. Spiderman’s suit underneath was tattered and his skin an angry shiny red, but it was more or less whole and when the man _finally_ set him down, the leg managed to hold Spiderman’s weight.

It still hurt, but it was a manageable hurt. He might not be as spry as normal, but at least he was mobile once again. Which as good, because while the freeze spray had gotten the flesh monster to back off, it wasn’t keeping it down for long.

“Please tell me you have more of that. Like you bought stock in it kind of more, or something.”

Batman didn’t reply and he didn’t pull out any more cans than the small one he’d been using.

“Damn,” Spiderman sighed. He shifted his weight, trying to ease the discomfort of pulling burnt skin. “I’ve tried sticking it in place, tried tying it up, tried blocking it off, and I even tried luring it back into the tunnels. Nothing’s working.”

“We need to keep it contained down here,” Batman ordered.

Spiderman nodded along. “Right, sure, totally the plan, just not clear on the how of it.”

Batman brooded over that for a moment. “Cold works. Have you tried anything else that’s a _shock_ to the system?” he finally asked with a slight gesture towards the empty tracks.

Spiderman groaned. “Why didn’t I think of that? And also – bad dad joke Batman, don’t ever do that again. It ruins the image.”

“No it doesn’t,” Batman reasoned as he pulled out a coil of wire and moved to start herding the thing towards the edge of platform.

Peter shrugged and hobbled over to his side to do his part. “Alright, maybe it doesn’t.” Because honestly, getting dad-joked by Batman after he saved your butt from being blob-food was still pretty awesome.

If the blob creature was disgusting beforehand, it was even worse fried to a crisp. Because of course the thing couldn’t just touch the live track and electrocute itself and die. Oh no, it took more than one hit and still kept trying to ooze forward. In the end, Spiderman had to use some of Batman’s metal based lines to run a stronger current directly into the thing to get it to finally stop. By that point, not much was left but blackened, cooked flesh and Peter had to stop twice to vomit off to the side.

The good news was that by that point, police and EMTs had showed up and were busy taking care of anyone who’d been hurt. The bad news was there was only one exit and the cops were blocking it. Thankfully, Batman apparently knew all of the cool ways to get out of subway tunnels unseen. It was a life skill Peter hadn’t really developed yet, but he had a feeling that his future held a lot more of this kind of thing. The best part had been when they had to climb over a stopped car to get around it. At least one of the frustrated passengers on board got an eye full of them, and the look on the guy’s face had been priceless.

“How’s the leg?” Batman asked once they were in a service tunnel. He didn’t slow down or turn around but Peter was pretty used to talking to the man’s back at this point.

He was walking normally by now but just barely. “Skin hurts,” he replied. “I think that’s the worst of it though.” Which would heal just fine. But man, raw skin was painful. So many nerve endings.

Batman made a noise. Sort of like a grunt but more gravely. Definitely judgmental. But most of his noises were. “You need training,” he announced like a teacher assigning more homework, before adding, “and adult supervision,” like it was a forgone conclusion that any rational person would already have assumed.

“Hey!” Peter yelped. “Do not! Granted, today might not have been my best day, but I’ve got this! And I’m getting training. Sort of. Plenty of on the job training at least, but I’m working on it. I don’t need supervision. Maybe you need supervision,” he told Batman’s back as if it wasn’t half a foot taller than Peter and probably a full foot wider.

“ _I_ am an adult,” Batman intoned, like he was imparting great words of wisdom.

“I am too!”

Batman stopped and turned slowly to face him for the first time since they started this wonderful performance review. “You,” Batman told him, “are a minor. And you are going to get yourself killed.”

“Am not! I’m not either of those things!” Peter could just die of embarrassment. He was suddenly acutely missing the blob fight and would rather be there right now.

Batman crossed his arms and seemed to settle his weight like he planned on standing there for a good long argument. “Clearly you are both of those things. How anyone else could mistake you for otherwise is beyond me. We will have to arrange for suitable oversight and a structured regimen. And better equipment. Including communications that are not your personal civilian cellphone,” the last bit was drawled so hard Peter could feel the eye roll. It was the most the man had ever said to Peter and everything about it made him want to find a hole to crawl into.

Spiderman very carefully did not check to make sure his phone was still safely tucked in its pouch. He liked his phone, okay? And how else was Aunt May supposed to check up on him? “I like my suit,” he argued.

Batman sighed. It was perhaps the most normal thing Peter had ever seen the man do. “The suit is acceptable,” he conceded, which he well ought to considering the amount of time and money that had gone into the thing! “But it could use some additional equipment. A good knife, to start with, has several practical uses. We’ll work on that.”

Spiderman stared at him. That…kind of sounded nice. Not the knife part, because Peter was totally more likely to accidentally stab himself with it than do any of those several practical uses, but it kind of sounded like Batman was being nice and maybe didn’t think he was a total screw-up after his performance today.

No, he just thought Peter was a kid.

Spiderman scowled for all he was worth. “I don’t need an adult!” he argued. “I am an adult!” he added, just in case his point wasn’t clear.

Yep, that was definitely an eye roll. Batman turned and started walking again as if he felt this argument was already over with and he had already won.

“I mean it!” Peter argued as he followed after him. “I’ve already got someone for that kind of thing! I don’t need two.”

“Clearly, they’re not doing a good enough job,” Batman pointed out. “Thankfully I’m much more experienced at this kind of thing. Don’t worry, I’ll get it straightened out.”

“Wait, what? No, don’t do that! Mr. Batman? Please, no? Oh my god, I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

\---

 

Bruce Wayne’s New York apartment was everything one would expect and more. It had been featured in three magazines, numerous photo-ops and one reality tv show. It took a staff of four full time employees to keep it up and running. It had its own gymnasium for when he or one of his boys wanted to fit in some exercise and a full spa facility for when they inevitably hurt something doing so. Mr. Wayne paid to keep it well stocked and ready for use whenever the mood struck.

Batman, on the other hand, crashed in a much more modest four bedroom apartment six blocks away. It too had spa like facilities to sooth weary muscles and aching joints, but it also came with a small laboratory and a full command room. There were no servants here. No one but family crossed its threshold.

Except in certain cases.

“Bruce F-ing Wayne! You crawl your butt out here right this minute!”

Batman considered a number of possible responses and went with the one most likely to cause his intruder the most distress.

“No.”

“No? No? Don’t you ‘No’ me, you thieving bastard!”

Batman closed out any real work he might have accomplished and quickly typed in a few more commands. One made sure his intruder would manage to get front the front door to the back bedroom/command center unharmed. The other cleared his schedule for the next few hours.

Tony Stark was not a problem quickly fixed.

“You!”

“Me,” Batman agreed, turning slowly. He was out of uniform, knee wrapped with a hot pad, and hair still damp from a shower. It wasn’t the worst condition Tony Stark had ever seen him in and frankly Bruce was too tired of trying to keep the nosey bastard out to care. “What do you want?” Unfortunately, Stark was the one to teach him most of what he knew about home security back in the early days, so trying to keep him out of Bruce’s private spaces rarely worked.

“Spiderman!”

Batman frowned. “You want Spiderman?”

“What? No. I mean, yes! I mean, he’s already mine so you can just back off! Mr. Greedy!”

While Bruce Wayne had been called many thing over the years, surprisingly, greedy was not often one of them. The Wayne Foundation had a solid reputation for philanthropy, and Brucie was well known to be loose with the cash. Maybe even too much.

“I don’t think you can own a person, Stark,” he pointed out calmly.

“Nuh-uh. I know what you’re doing there. Stop it. You’ve got enough already. Leave mine alone. I saw him first.”

“Ah, I see,” Batman said, pushing himself up to his feet. “You plan to adopt him.”

“What? No! No one said anything about adoption!” and there was the Stark panic in the face of commitment that Bruce Wayne had been so familiar with in their younger years. The man had improved with age and hard knocks, but he still wasn’t quite up to Batman’s standards.

“Then you won’t mind if I do.”

“No, no, no, you’re not allowed to do that!”

Batman waved one hand dismissively as he headed for the kitchen. If he was going to be forced to take a break from his real work, he might as well refuel. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”

“BRUCE, NO!”


End file.
